They Mostly Come Out At Night

by Benedict Patrick

  It was a journey that itself is worth many stories. Gluscabe had made his home deep in the forest, at the top of the tallest tree. It took many years for the Magpie King to find and reach his quarry. In that time, he learnt how to sing, found and then lost a dear friend, and forgot how to smile. The dark figure who finally reached the top of that fir tree was an uncanny shade of the man he had been when his journey had begun.

  "Gluscabe," the Magpie King bellowed, a cloak of black and white feathers that had been gifted to him by the Great Magpie during the previous winter flowing behind him in the strong wind. "Put down the sun and speak with me."

  Gluscabe still had the sun in his grasp, but that once-fiery orb had diminished greatly in size and its juices stained the squirrel's maw. The black squirrel turned to the Magpie King to regard him with its red eyes, and the creature simply opened its jaw to scream at the man who had dared to disturb him.

  "Mine. Sun belongs to Gluscabe. Animals not laugh at Gluscabe any more. Too busy screaming."

  The Magpie King's lip curled and he took a leap closer to his target. He nodded in agreement with the squirrel. "Yes, oh great squirrel, you have truly shown us the error of our ways. Won't you come down to the forest with me so that all creatures can beg your forgiveness?"

  The beast snarled again at the Magpie King, and turned back to the sun to sink his teeth into it once more. The sun did its best to pull away from its attacker, straining to lift itself back onto its celestial path, but the muscles in the squirrel's forearms bulged and the sun was held firm.

  An almighty rumbling grew the Magpie King's attention to its source, and as his eyes fell upon Gluscabe's distended belly, a plan formed in his mind.

  "Oh great Gluscabe," he began humbly, "it pains me you have dedicated yourself so passionately to our deserved education that you have neglected your own needs. We all know that feasting only on the sun for the past year and five days will not have satisfied your hunger. A sun is composed of warmth and light, and not much else - hardly a fitting meal for one of your stature. Please, allow me to seek out more adequate food for one such as yourself while you continue to chastise the rest of the forest."

  The black squirrel turned to snarl again at the Magpie King, and returned to gnaw on his sun. But the creature's belly rumbled and its red eyes darted to regard the Magpie King, and as they did so a flicker of hope rippled through them. A smile threatened to break on the Magpie King's lips at that moment, but he forced it into hiding and disappeared back down the fir tree.

  The Magpie King's journey to locate food for Gluscabe would take more time than we have now to recount. Save to say it was a perilous one, taking him to depths of the forest he had never ventured into before. He lost the ring finger of his left hand to an army of red ants. He found a wooden earring he would treasure forever, and he awoke a new enemy that would eventually be his bloodline's doom. Finally, he was able to return to Gluscabe with an armful of red berries he had found within sight of the Lion's mountains, each fruit as large as a man's head, each containing a stone that was the size of a clenched fist.

  "Here, good Gluscabe. I have brought nourishment to fuel your great endeavours."

  On sight of the red bounty the black squirrel leapt from its perch, dragging the mutilated sun with him. He slavered over the gifts from the Magpie King, sucking on the red flesh of the berries and crunching into the stones until all were gone, and his belly gave a soft rumble of contentment. The squirrel lay there for a moment in front of the Magpie King, one hand still clutching the dying star to his breast and the other cradling his satisfied gut. With a trembling hand, the Magpie King reached forth and patted Gluscabe on his head. As he did so, the squirrel gave a whimper of contentment, shuddered, and then visibly reduced in size. The Magpie King smiled as this happened, and at that moment, the sun made another pull away from its captor's claws, but to no avail. The squirrel remained the size of a large horse, and anger still fuelled its powerful claws.

  "You are much stronger now," the Magpie King complimented Gluscabe, "yet I feel I have not been equal to the task I had set myself. Forgive me, almighty black squirrel, I shall away to find more to sustain you with." With that, the Magpie King leapt from the top of the fir. Once again, the details of his journey could entertain a mind for a lifetime. He stepped on a snake and had his face spat in. He met an owl and fell painfully in love. He was watched the whole time by a single mouse, but failed to pay it any attention.

  Finally, the Magpie King returned with a single branch of blue flowers. Each flower was closed tight, as the petals were holding jealously to the rich nectar that was within. At the sight of the food, the black squirrel leapt down again, taking care to pull the sun with him, and gorged himself on the Magpie King's find. He burst through the cocoon of leaves to the amber liquid contained within, and the Magpie King could clearly hear the splash of the nectar hitting the walls of the squirrel's gut. Once again, the squirrel curled up in contentment, and once again, the Magpie King gave Gluscabe a pat on the head. Anger draining out of him, the black squirrel diminished once more, down to the size of a wolf. However, it still snarled mightily at the Magpie King when it regained its senses, and quickly took up position again gnawing on the sun.

  And so the Magpie King took a final journey down the fir tree. No records exist of what took place during this final trip. All that is known is that the journey took exactly three months and a day, and that when the Magpie King returned to the top of the tree once more, his hair was shaved off and he wept openly.

  "Here, great Gluscabe," the Magpie King offered, bringing forth a tiny golden egg for the squirrel. The black creature scurried down from his perch, forcing the sun to follow, and eyed the egg greedily. With great reluctance, the Magpie King passed it to the beast, who cracked it open and gorged on the purple contents within. The Magpie King could not bear to watch this sight, but closed his eyes and reached out his hand to pat Gluscabe one last time on the head. When the Magpie King opened his eyes, the squirrel was finally diminished to the size we know today. Indeed, so drained of anger and strength was Gluscabe that he could no longer hold on to the sun, and it returned to the sky. In time, the sun regained its health and brought heat and light to the forest once more.

  The black squirrel withdrew to the high branches of his tree and propagated more of his kind. The Magpie King had drained the squirrel of the rage that had allowed him to pluck the sun from the sky, but those flames came from a fire that can never be extinguished. To this day, when we meet Gluscabe's children in the forest, they shake their fists at us and chatter angrily, giving voice to their irritation. Dimly they recall their original greatness, and until they fade from the forest they will blame people for taking it from them.

  "For Artemis' sake, Lonan, will you just shut up already?"

  "Now, Mrs Anvil, perhaps you would like to step back and let me take a look?"

  "No, I certainly would not. You don't think I can deal with my own son?"

  "I really do think you should let me see him. I am good with this sort of thing. Happens with my wife a lot, you see."

  "I don't… yes, yes I see. Go ahead."

  As Lonan regained consciousness, the first sensation that came to him was that of being grabbed by the collar and being raised roughly out of bed. His blurry eyes came into focus and he was met with the face of Jarleth Quarry. The blond man's serious face broke into a wicked grin at seeing Lonan awake, and he jerked Lonan roughly to the side so he could not see anyone else in the room.

  "You see," the blacksmith continued, "I've found that the only way to wake them up once they get like this is a short, sharp slap." The word 'slap' was accompanied by the back of Jarleth's hand making contact with Lonan's face.

  Lonan leapt up with an angry shout, bellowing incoherently and reaching his hands for his assaulter's throat. He did not make it that far, however, as he found himself being held back by two of the Tumulty boys.

  "See," the grinning bastard continued, slipping to the back
of the cellar, "works every time."

  "What the hell's going on?" Lonan questioned groggily, still struggling against the Tumultys.

  As his eyes became accustomed to being awake, it was quickly obvious that something was wrong. He was down in Mother Ogma's cellar, exactly where he had gone to sleep last night, but there were a lot of unfamiliar faces down here with him now. The Tumulty boys, as well as Old Man Tumulty, Lonan's mother and of course Jarleth was there too.

  Fear struck at Lonan. "What's happened? Where's Aileen? Is she alright?"

  Old Man Tumulty walked across to him and stared at his face. "Seems alright now, doesn't he? Got a sore voice, have ye son?"

  "Damn your sore voice, is my sister safe?" Lonan shouted back at the elder. Funnily enough, a grating pain shot down his throat as he yelled.

  A commotion from upstairs let Lonan know there were more bodies in the building.

  "...my own house. I should be down there too - healing is my Knack, as you are all well aware."

  The furious face of Mother Ogma trotted down the cellar steps, followed by a protesting young man. Mother Ogma spun and pointed her finger at him, "Ciaran Dripper, you let her through now or I personally will guarantee those sores on your pecker will not heal by the end of the winter." She turned to look at Lonan again. "You back to us, boy?"

  "Where else would I go?"

  Mother Ogma muttered, "We'll find out about that later," before addressing somebody up the stairs again. "He's fine, come and take a look."

  "Lonan?" With that innocent question, Lonan was greeted by the sight of his sister running into the cellar, pushing past the crowd in the safe room and embracing her brother in a tight hug. "Don't do that to us again, you scared me."

  Lonan hugged his sister back, carrying her as he stood up from his bed. "Well, now I've got the girl, would someone mind telling me what in the Magpie’s name is going on here?"

  "You were screaming," his sister responded, her head nuzzling his chest, "and you wouldn't stop."

  "Is that it?"

  "You've been doing it for the best part of an hour now, lad."

  Lonan looked in shock at the collection of faces before him, the pieces of the puzzle all falling into place now. Of course such a long period of shouting would attract attention in a community such as Smithsdown. That did not explain the unusual assortment of faces he woke to though.

  "I wouldn't wake?" he questioned dumbly.

  Jarleth stepped smugly to the fore. "No amount of shaking or pinching seemed to do it. We decided your mother would be the best person to make a decision about what should be done if you were indeed going mad. My expertise in these matters made me a natural fit to advise." Lonan ignored the telltale flare of Quarry's Knack in action.

  "Well, I am touched that you all care so deeply," Lonan addressed the room with a distinct lack of sincerity, "but I do hope you all understand I have better things to do than sit around and chat all day. Does no one else have somewhere to be?"

  Tumulty grunted, "Comon boys, we're already behind with today's harvest."

  "I preferred him when he was screeching his throat out," Callum said to his brother as they followed their father, emptying the cellar.

  "Anytime, old sport," Jarleth playfully pinched Lonan's face where his hand had made contact minutes earlier, highlighting to Lonan how tender that area was now. "I'm starting to get quite good at this kind of thing." He left too, swiftly followed by Lonan's own mother, who whisked Aileen away without ceremony.

  Ten minutes later, Lonan found himself upstairs, sitting at the table in a room whose general untidiness betrayed the gathering of people that had occupied it until recently. Only Harlow remained now, rocking mindlessly on his chair by the fire as if nothing unusual had occurred.

  "Bet you loved having someone else to chat to," Lonan addressed the old man, not expecting any kind of response.

  Mother Ogma busied herself around the room, sweeping up the dirt brought in by half the village and rearranging the many aspects of her pharmacy that had been upset by the bodies.

  "I don't suppose you'd like to talk about it, dearie?" she said as she worked.

  It was a good question. Uncharacteristically, Lonan did not respond with a barbed comment and instead mulled over his dramatic dream as the porridge cooled on his spoon. Is it normal for a dream to continue the story from the night before? Maybe it’s because I spent so much time yesterday thinking about it? It would just be natural for my mind to try to continue the story, I guess. But last night's vision was brutal. Adahy’s life was cut down just as he was given hope of a better future. It must take a sick mind to come up with a situation like that.

  Lonan could not help giving a sly grin at that thought.

  "Well, things can't be that bad if we can still manage one of those once in a while."

  Lonan nodded at Mother Ogma, his grin continuing. "Just a dream. A mad, out-there dream. Had it last night too."

  "I would ask if there was anything exciting in it, but I dare say I already know the answer to that one."

  "Heh. Well, you know, just doing what I can to keep you on your toes."

  "You'll be alright though?"

  "Just my mind using the worst bits in there against me. I probably should have warned you a while ago that I'm a right fountain of craziness, me."

  Mother Ogma raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose somewhere in there is the type of craziness that would finally be able to pick me some evening primrose today?"

  Lonan threw his hands into the air in mock frustration, warding off the guilt that his repeated failure at this task was making him feel. "Artemis' beard, fine."

  He grabbed his bag and made towards the door, but paused just before he left. "Mother Ogma, you've been around for a while."

  "Thank you for noticing, dearie."

  "I mean, I know people say the attacks weren't always as bad as they are now. Is that true?"

  The old woman turned to her young charge, studying him quizzically. "I suppose not. They still came though, but I guess we got more visitors, dearie. Got a chance to see a bit more of the forest myself too."

  "Did you ever get the chance to see the Eyrie?"

  She barked a laugh in response. "Oh no, not me, dearie. A fine palace like that, they wouldn't let me close enough to smell it. Nearest I ever got to the Magpie King was when we went to visit the temple when my mammy and pappy died."

  Lonan's blood stopped running. "Temple?"

  "Well, I guess so. Or a shrine, I can't really remember what we were supposed to call it. Used to be tradition for a family to take a trip there every few years, to honour the Great Magpie or to pay respect to the dead. And pay taxes, of course, some stupid tax or other."

  "You went to the shrine?"

  "Oh, yes, dearie." She visibly shuddered. "Twice, I think. Scared me silly too, if I remember rightly."

  "What was it like? Inside, I mean."

  "Oh, dark I suppose. Dark, and lots of bird poo. But I do remember this big pole at the back. Magpies standing on magpies, all made out of wood, reaching to the top of the rafters. Silly, but those birds terrified me."

  Lonan did not respond.

  Mother Ogma returned from her deep thoughts. "Are you alright?"

  Without saying a word, Lonan turned and left.

  Emerging into the daylight, Lonan fell into a full sprint and headed straight into the forest. The totem pole? How in Artemis' name did she know about that? His foot snagged on a rotting branch, sending him briefly to the ground but he hardly seemed to notice. Damn it, this was supposed to have been just a crazy coincidence. It couldn't actually be true. He dropped to his knees and screamed into the wild.

  Lonan spent the majority of the day wandering around the greenery, puzzling over things in his mind. By chance, as he was doing so, his eyes caught a glimpse of yellow, and he recalled Mother Cutter’s primroses. The guilt from earlier that morning came back, and Lonan spent the rest of the day ensuring he had enough of the weed in his gathering
pouch before he considered heading back to Mother Ogma’s. He also managed to find some weaselwort, which he knew helped with pain. Perhaps that might make up for the extra days of discomfort he had caused.

  As he searched, he started to consider Adahy, and how terrible things would be right now for the prince if he actually did exist. To watch his father being ripped to pieces like that, to have his whole life taken away from him. Lonan shuddered at the thought, as if someone had been walking across his own grave. After that, his mind began to consider what was going to happen next. If the Magpie King was gone…

  If the Magpie King is gone, then there is nobody left to protect the villages. Things have been bad enough with the King looking out for us, but now that the Wolves have free reign over the forest, what’s to stop them beating at cellar doors until the wood finally gives?

  Lonan sat down at the thought, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It’s not real though, is it? He thought he had convinced himself with his theory about dreams being byproducts of waking thoughts, but how could that have explained the coincidence of the breech at the Quarry cottage last night? And the continuation of his dream? There was no way Mother Ogma’s description of the temple was a coincidence.

  Why me, the Knackless man from Smithsdown? Why should I be the one to see these things? Is it some kind of warning? Because if the dreams are real, then we’re all in a lot of trouble.

  Lonan took a few moments to ponder these last thoughts, and then sat up straight, mind now resolute. He felt like a madman, but he could not take the chance that these were all just figments of his imagination. If I’m going to treat these dreams like some kind of warning, what can I do about it? After a moment of quiet contemplation, Lonan picked himself up and ran home.

  The sun was setting when Lonan huffed into the village again, and he made straight for his mother's house and banged on the door. Her hard face regarded him through the half open portal.

  "Yes?" she queried bluntly.